Can't Get Home
by Kelcor
Summary: It's the dead of winter and John and an injured Dean are stuck in a snow storm in the Rockies. Will Sam and Bobby be able to find them in time? Hurt Dean! Fatherly/Angsty John! Angsty/Protective Sam! Dean 18. Sam 14. Sequel to The Possibility of Loss.
1. Chapter 1

Sam paced back and forth, from one side of the small cabin to the other. He stopped at a window and stared worriedly out at the accumulation of snow on the ground - it was about an inch away from the roof of the Impala, all that could be seen of Dean's baby was the edges of the black roof. Stepping away from the window, he purposefully made his way over to the phone for what seemed like the hundredth time. This time, he picked it up and even got half way through the dialling process before hanging it up again with a loud sigh.

_Dad'll kill me if I drag Bobby all the way out here for no reason. But, dammit, there is a reason - Dean and Dad were due back three hours ago, _he thought, glancing quickly at his watch. _Make that three hours and eight minutes ago. Where could they be? And, that dream had seemed so REAL. What if it was? What if something's happened to them? _

Following his instincts, Sam picked up the receiver again and dialled Bobby's number - not allowing himself to think about what the implications would be if the dream HAD been real. After the third ring, a gruff and familiar voice picked up on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Uncle Bobby?"

"Sam? Is that you?" There was a brief pause, during which Sam could almost picture Bobby looking at the clock. "What in tar-nation are you doin' up at this hour, son?"

The sound of Bobby's concerned voice opened the floodgates deep within Sam and he began talking a mile-a-minute into the receiver. "I'm sorry to wake you, uncle Bobby but, dad and Dean were due back over three hours ago and I don't know where they are and they might be hurt and it's snowing out and -- "

"Slow down, boy," Bobby said, cutting off the babbling brook called Sam. "Where are you?"

"Um, a place called Loveland Pass… near Denver, Colorado."

"Yeah, I know it. What are you huntin' up there?"

"I'm not sure. Dad doesn't tell me much about the hunts since the Wendigo incident. But I did hear him and Dean saying something about a Sasquatch."

"Huh. Okay. I'll get there as soon as I can. Have you tried their cell phones?"

"Yeah, but there's no reception. Because of the storm, I think. Oh man, Bobby, how're you gonna even get here? The storm's really bad!" Sam glanced at the door, wondering if maybe he should go out and begin searching for his father and brother on his own.

"Don't even think about goin' out in that blizzard before I get there, Sam," Bobby chastised him, as if reading the boy's mind.

"How did you --?"

"Because, you're just as stubborn as your dad and Dean. Always ready to sacrifice yourselves to save each other."

"That's what family does, Bobby," Sam argued, though his voice wasn't much more than a whisper, as he stared out the window fearfully. The storm seemed to be getting worse… much worse.

"Yeah, kid, that's what family does… when there's no other option! You got another option."

"What, Bobby? What's my other option? Cuz I really don't see one right now,"

"You're on the phone with it, ya' idjit!" Bobby said, his voice rising slightly. Then the older man took a deep breath and continued in a softer yet firm tone. "Don't worry, kiddo. I'll find a way to get to you. Just hang tight, okay? I'll be there. I promise."

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby."

* * *

As John Winchester brought the shotgun up, preparing to fire on their seven-foot, white furred adversary, he realized he was too late as the thing swiped his eldest son across the abdomen with its massive claws, causing the normally stoic Dean to cry out in pain. After only a brief moment of being frozen by that sound, John finally took aim and fired a shot at the large creature. The slug successfully tore into its shoulder but the bastard barely seemed to notice its entry. John watched helplessly as his son was then picked up and thrown into a tree several feet away. The Sasquatch quickly switched its attention from young hunter to older hunter and advanced on John, who, in turn, raised the gun and took aim yet again. But, before he was able to pull the trigger, the 12 gauge was swiped out of his hands by a huge paw and John was picked up and shoved back into the trunk of yet another large tree.

He watched dismally as his gun slid across a patch of ice and came to rest against a large boulder. The creature began to squeeze the oxygen from John's lungs and he saw a blackness taking shape along the edges of his vision. He was gasping for air, felt as if his windpipe was being crushed - which, judging by the size of the hand around his throat, was entirely possible - suddenly, a loud clap of thunder permeated the air around him. Thunder? In a snow storm? Possible, yes. But very rare. Another clap of thunder caused the creature to roar in pain and anger as it released him, allowing him to fall to the snow covered ground below. That's when John realized it wasn't thunder at all but the sound of a shotgun going off. He glanced to the side and saw his oldest son, barely conscious, laying on his side against the boulder, holding John's shotgun… smoke still rising from the barrel, even more noticeable than usual in the cold winter air.

The creature turned towards Dean, a large patch of red now forming on its back to match the wound on its front. _Why won't this thing just die?_ "Dean!" John yelled in warning. He could see that his son's eyes were open - barely - and they were aimed towards the creature, just as the gun was, but Dean wasn't pulling the trigger. "Shoot, son! Shoot!"

Still, Dean waited. Long enough, in fact, that John thought his son wasn't really with him. _Concussion. He must have a concussion. I have to do something. _He searched his coat for another weapon but there was nothing that could help… then he remembered the knife in the sheath on his forearm. He quickly pulled it out and, holding the blade in his fingers, prepared to throw it at the creature's back. John knew the small weapon would not be able to deliver a fatal blow but it might distract it enough to bring its attention away from Dean and back to John. The older Winchester raised the knife and was just about to let it fly from his fingers when another shot rang out. The creature fell forward, on top of Dean. John heard his son cry out as his legs were crushed into the ground by the overwhelming weight of the Sasquatch.

"Dean!" John called out yet again, slowly making his way over to his injured son. Finally reaching him, he ran his hand through the boy's hair, reassuring himself that his son was there and, more importantly, alive.

"Get it off," Dean grunted, trying desperately to control the pain that was surely coursing through him. He started pushing at the thing himself but John laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Just calm down, son. I'll get it off you, okay? But you need to stop moving before you injure yourself even more, you hear me?"

The younger hunter nodded reluctantly as his father knelt down beside him and placed both hands on the creature lying on top of him. Dean could feel the boulder digging into his lower back, and his stomach felt like it was on fire, but he obeyed his father's instructions and remained still - gritting his teeth against the pain..

"Okay. On three," John told him. "One." The older hunter arranged his hands so that one was on the thing's shoulder and the other on its hip. "Two." Both father and son tensed. "Three." John heaved the Sasquatch off Dean's legs, only to be rewarded by a scream of agony from his eldest son.

TBC

A/N _You like? Want me to continue? Also, for those of you waiting for the next chapter of Coming Home, it will be up soon, I promise. Just had to get a few other things outta my head first. blush Anyway, please let me know what you think of this one, so far...? _Kelcor


	2. Chapter 2

A/N WOW! There were so many wonderful reviews for this story so early on that I absolutely HAD to post the next chapter quickly. So, as soon as I got home from the gym, I sat down and wrote this. I hope it lives up to everyone's standards! I'm sorry I don't have time to proof read it as closely as I usually do but I will make any necessary corrections on my lunch tomorrow - for now, I must go to bed. -snore- Anyway, my apologies in advance for any errors. Please R&R...

_Previously on Supernatural - Can't Get Home:_

_Dean nodded reluctantly as his father knelt down beside him and placed both hands on the creature lying on top of him. He could feel the boulder digging into his lower back and his stomach felt like it was on fire, but he obeyed his father__'__s instructions and remained still - gritting his teeth against the pain.._

"_Okay. On three," John told him. "One." The older hunter arranged his hands so that one was on the thing's shoulder and the other on its hip. "Two." Both father and son tensed. "Three." John heaved the Sasquatch off Dean's legs, only to be rewarded by a scream of agony from his eldest son._

* * *

John's attention was riveted to his son. "What? What is it?"

"My leg," Dean almost whimpered.

The older Winchester looked down at the leg Dean was grasping desperately at and quickly noticed it was bent at an unnatural angle at the knee. _Dear God! _John moved closer to his eldest, taking his hand in his own, partially to stop him from grabbing his knee and partially to offer some semblance of support. The weight of the creature being lifted off Dean made the excruciating pain of the injury instantly noticeable for his boy. "Don't touch it, Dean. Oh, son, I'm so sorry." Dean's head was tossing back and forth, the sweat pouring off him, as he continued to try and grab his leg - he wasn't focussing on his father at all. John put a hand on either side of his son's face, forcing him to be still. "Dean." No reaction. "Dean!" This time, Dean finally registered his father's presence... just barely but enough. "Son, you have to leave it alone until I set it." Dean's eyes widened in fear at John's words. Then the fear was quickly replaced by grim determination as he nodded weakly in acceptance. "That's my boy," John said proudly. "Wait here, okay? I'll be right back." Again, Dean nodded but the older of the two could see that his son's eyes were drooping. "Stay awake, Dean." He tapped one side of Dean's face when his eyes closed completely. "Dean!" When the green orbs opened again in response to John's marine-voice, the older man continued in the same tone. "You need to stay awake, Dean. Got it?"

"Yes sir," Dean mumbled, but he kept his eyes open - though he was unable to hide the weariness in them.

John stood and with one glance back to his son, he went in search of something to use for a splint. Once he found a branch which was both long enough and thick enough, he made his way back to Dean. Who, despite the pain, had kept his promise to his dad and remained awake. As an after thought, John grabbed a smaller branch from the ground and wiped it on his jeans, just before taking the final steps to his son's side and kneeling down next to him.

"Okay, Dean," he began, holding out the smaller branch. "I'm gonna have to set your leg, so, I need you to bite down on this so you don't bite your tongue instead, okay, sport?" After Dean gave a quick nod, John inserted the branch sideways in his son's mouth, between his front teeth. "Ready?" The younger hunter bit down on the branch as response. "Okay. On three. One." John put a hand on either side of his boy's knee. "Two." He felt Dean tense. Then, without another word, John simultaneously pushed and pulled on the bone to set it back in place. A gut wrenching scream tore out of the eighteen year old, after which, he promptly passed out.

* * *

Sam jolted awake with his big brother's name on his lips. _Dean! Oh God! What happened to you? _His brother was in a lot of pain, that much he knew for sure - he didn't know how he knew, he just knew. What he _didn't _know was what had happened! He could feel the tears burning behind his eyes but fought them back, not willing to let them fall for fear that that would make everything real… that it would mean his father and brother weren't coming home. Besides, Dean would want him to be strong!

A loud pounding on the door brought Sam out of his reverie. He glanced at the clock - 1:45am. Bobby couldn't have made it here yet, he'd just spoken with him a couple hours ago. But, who else could it be. Deciding that it had to be the man he had adopted as an honorary 'uncle', Sam threw back the single blanket that was covering him on the sofa and ran for the door. He pulled open the barrier between himself and the freezing temperatures and was met with someone who was most definitely not Uncle Bobby!

* * *

John placed a hand on the side of Dean's face and was unnerved at the heat emanating off him. He glanced up at the now dark sky and noticed for the first time that the snow was coming down much heavier now. They had to find shelter and quick. He had already set his son's leg and now had to wrap the wounds created by the creature's claws. One good thing about the cold was that it slowed down the bleeding. John grabbed the med kit out of his backpack and pulled out the gauze strips inside, praying that it would be enough to wrap Dean's abdomen to effectively staunch the rest of the blood flow until he could get him to shelter and stitch him up. John removed Dean's jacket and pulled his shirt up to reveal the huge gashes left behind by the now dead Sasquatch. He gently pulled his still unconscious teenage son forward until his cheek was resting on John's shoulder, then wrapped the gauze around his midsection as many times as the length would allow, leaving a few inches free to tie both ends into a knot. Once that task was complete, John lowered Dean's shirt, pulled the jacket up his son's arms once again and then zipped it shut.

Gazing at their surroundings, he tried to figure out which direction to head in. East would lead them back to the cabin and, more importantly, Sam. But John was pretty sure there was no shelter between said cabin and their current location, and it was too long of a walk this time of night, especially considering the condition Dean was in.

He pulled a map out of the inside pocket of his coat and quickly skimmed over it, doing his best to shield the paper from the falling snow. He saw what could be a rock formation, judging by the altitude showing on the map, but they would have to traverse a river to get to it. Unfortunately, it looked like the only feasible option, right now. He ran his finger along the depiction of the river and saw a symbol indicating a bridge of some sort a couple klicks further south. So, they would find the river first, follow it south for about two kilometres, cross the bridge and pray that what he saw on the map was indeed a rock formation and that it had some sort of shelter - a cave would be perfect… well, an uninhabited cave, that is. The last thing they needed was an encounter with a grizzly, or even worse, another Sasquatch.

Just when John was thinking he was going to have to carry his son to safety, the young man began to stir. "Dean? Can you hear me, son?"

"Dad?" The word was slurred but recognizable, just the same.

"Yeah, kiddo, it's me. We need to find shelter. Can you walk?"

Dean gave him a glare that clearly said 'Of course, I can walk!'

John held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Okay, okay. Can't blame me for checking."

"Yeah, I can," his son told him, throwing in his trademark grin for good measure, though it was mixed with a grimace of pain as he tried to move.

The older hunter smiled back, then helped the teen to his feet, looping his left arm around Dean's waist and holding his son's right arm over his shoulders by grasping the wrist in his other hand. "Ready?"

"To get outta this snow? Definitely! Which way is the cabin?"

"We're not going back to the cabin, sport."

"What? Dad, we can't leave Sammy alone all night!"

"We don't have a choice, Dean. There's no way we'll make it back in these temperatures with your injuries."

"Go without me, then."

"What?"

"You heard me. Get back to Sammy. Then come back for me in the morning."

"Are you crazy?"

"It's been rumoured... Look, dad, I'm serious. Sam'll freak if at least one of us doesn't come home tonight."

"He'll freak out even more if I come home without you! Besides, I am not leaving you here."

"Dad --!"

"End of discussion, Dean."

The younger Winchester glared at his father but acquiesced nonetheless.

* * *

It was slow going but they managed to make their way through the forest and found themselves at the edge of the ice-covered river about half an hour later. Eventually, Dean's anger died down to a simmer and he tried his best to make light of the situation to get his mind off the pain… not to mention, Sammy. _Man, he must be so scared! _

"Now what?" Dean asked his father. "Cuz, you know, walking I can do. Skating? Not so much."

John chuckled. "We'd probably fall right through, anyway."

"Well, I don't know about you but, when I was a kid I had no future aspirations to become a popsicle when I grew up."

"Listen, smartass, there's a bridge about two klicks downriver. You think we could head down there? Or would you rather stay here and try out your comedy act on the frozen fish?"

"No, no, I'm good. I already know I'm funny. Don't need Cap'n Highliner's friends to tell me."

John shook his head as they made their way down river. It would never cease to amaze him how much Dean managed to hide with a little bit of humour. If John didn't know his son so well, he might not know that the teen was in the worst pain imaginable. But, he _did_ know his son. He also knew that the charade would only last so long before more and more pain started to seep through the exterior mask and make itself known to the outside world. As it was, John could feel the shivers coursing through his son's body becoming more and more prominent with each passing minute.

After walking approximately two kilometres, Dean looked up at his father. "Didn't you say something about a bridge?" he asked, through panted breaths.

John released Dean's wrist but kept his arm around his waist, as he pulled the map out again. "It should be right here." He looked further down the river, then back the way they came, Dean wincing as he was inadvertently forced to turn along with him. "It should be right here, dammit!" The older Winchester took several long, deep breaths to calm himself. Then, he glanced at the river, trying to judge how wide it was and whether or not the ice would hold them. Seeing no other option, he made his decision. "Okay, son, looks like you're gonna have to try your hand at skating, after all."

"Seriously? Dad, you know hockey was never my sport for a reason, right?"

"I know," John sighed. "But, look at it this way, you'll be skating in your boots as opposed to being on top of two thin blades of metal."

"Not much of a consolation prize, dad."

With that, both men started across the river. John wished they could go single file with a few feet in between them so there'd be a better chance of the ice not breaking, but Dean still needed his support to walk. As if reading his mind, Dean looked up at his father and said, "Dad, why don't you go ahead? I'll lie down on the ice and pull myself along."

"What," John asked, his second incredulous reply of the evening.

"It's probably safer for both of us that way. Then, when you get across, you can reach out and pull me the rest of the way."

"Dean -- "

"Dad, go," Dean insisted, pulling his wrist free of his father's hand and removing his arm from his shoulders. With John's reluctant assistance, Dean laid down on the ice. After John took a couple steps away, he turned concerned eyes on his son. The teen seemed to actually be doing okay. It was certainly a more comfortable position for his knee.

John made it to the other side within just a few moments. He immediately turned and crouched down on the riverbank to reach his arm out to his eldest son who was only a few feet away, now. A loud cracking noise filled the air and Dean stopped his progress instantly. He turned wide eyes to his father and saw his fear reflected back at him.

"Okay, Dean, just stay there. I'm gonna come get you."

But the younger hunter held up his hand. "No, dad, it won't hold the both of us."

John looked at the ice and realized his son was right. If he tried to get to him, he would essentially be signing his son's death warrant. A branch. He needed a branch for Dean to grab onto. "Stay there. I'll be right back." John got up to leave, then turned back and said more urgently, "Don't move."

"Got nowhere to be right now, anyway," Dean replied, trying desperately to sound nonchalant instead of completely terrified - because he wasn't terrified. Dean Winchester didn't get terrified. Not a chance. No way. "Uh, dad, ya' think you could hurry it up a bit," he said, attributing the quiver in his voice to the cold ice pressed against his skin.

Another CRACK filled the air only seconds after John had moved from the riverbank. This one was different because, for one thing, it was much louder than the first. But it was different for another, much more important reason - it was accompanied by a loud cry of the word "Dad!"

John spun around to face the river once again. _Oh, dear God, no! _Dean was gone!

TBC

A/N There will be more Sammy in the next chapter, I promise! Hope you liked this one anyway, though. - Kelcor


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N Okay, I don't know much about hypothermia - just what I researched - so, I apologize if some of the actions don't ring true. I hope you still like it though. Please R&R? _- Kelcor

"Dean!"

John Winchester almost panicked. He almost ran out onto the ice without a second thought. He almost condemned his son to certain doom by making a suicidal move which would, in turn, make it impossible for John to save him. Almost.

"Think, John, think," he muttered to himself. He realized if he ran pell-mell onto the ice, he would simply fall through as well and the most dangerous part about being under water is not knowing which way was up and then not being able to find the hole you fell through in the first place. Your mind numbs with the rest of your body and you can't think straight. You panic. You breathe in water which is close to arctic temperatures. And, that's exactly what was happening to his son, right now! All these things ran through John's mind in a matter of seconds. _Stop thinking and DO SOMETHING! _Instead of running out onto the ice, he did his best to keep most of his weight on the ground beneath his knees and stretched his upper body out towards where he last saw his son. Then he slowly slithered his way to the hole, not liking the sound of splintering ice at all, but not seeing any other way to get to his boy. Finally at the spot where Dean had fallen through, John reached his arm into the frigid water and searched blindly for him. Just when he felt the panic begin to overwhelm him again, his fingers brushed across something and he instantly retraced his movements and got a firm grip on his son's jacket. The older Winchester's heart stopped for a moment when Dean's head broke the surface and he wasn't gasping for air. He dragged the teen up onto the ice and as the ice began breaking around them once again, John found a reserve of energy he didn't know he possessed and quickly pulled Dean onto the river bank before the ice had a chance to thwart their progress again.

Laying the young man flat on his back, John immediately checked for breathing. He cursed silently when his ear was met with silence, then began CPR. He tilted his son's head back, cleared his airway and breathed for him… chest compressions… breathe… chest compressions… curse silently… breathe… plead with Dean to wake up… chest compressions… breathe… plead some more. Finally, the teen took in a breath on his own and John pushed him onto his side, supporting him with his own body, while he purged the water that had gathered in his lungs. Then, he silently thanked God for allowing his son to live - Again!

Dean began struggling against his father's grip, apparently believing he was still under water. "Easy, son. Easy. I've got you. It's okay. I'm here. I've got you."

"No. Dad! I'm sorry. My fault. All my fault."

"What? What's your fault?"

"Have to save Sammy, dad. Can't… let 'm... die…"

John held his eldest tighter against his chest, knowing that he was remembering the Wendigo incident a month previous, when Sam had almost died. "Sam's fine, Dean. I promise, he's fine. He's back at the cabin."

"Alone… doesn't like to be alone."

"I know. But he's stronger than you give him credit for, Dean."

"Shouldn't have to be," Dean whispered faintly.

Feeling his son's body go suddenly lax in his arms, John instantly feared the worst and felt beneath his jaw for a pulse. The rhythm was weak yet steady. _Unconscious but alive._ _Thank you, God! _He desperately tried to figure out if he should warm him up now or later, when they found shelter. He looked up at the still falling snow, felt the blizzard-like winds picking up in intensity, felt his eldest son shivering profusely in his arms. Finally, he decided to do what he could now but to find shelter as soon as possible. He quickly removed his own jacket and placed it over top of Dean's but didn't fool himself into believing it would be nearly enough to get him warm. He had to get him out of his wet clothes, it was the only way. He pulled his son into a sitting position, placing one arm behind his back and the other beneath his knees.

At that moment, Dean regained consciousness, still shivering uncontrollably. "No, dad," he pleaded weakly, grasping his father's shirt in loosely fisted hands. "Don't. I can walk. Please… let me… walk." The younger Winchester would not allow himself to show weakness in front of his father - not again. He'd already cried in the man's arms a few weeks before when they had thought Sammy was going to die. Mind you, he had held back, had retained control of his emotions, but that was enough vulnerability to last him a lifetime, and then some. No. No way was he letting his father carry him.

John lifted Dean's left hand. "Press your thumb and forefinger together for me." Although the teen made a valiant effort, he still failed miserably. "You're heading into second stage hypothermia and you want to walk?" Dean nodded, clearly determined to prove himself even under these conditions. "Not this time, sport," John told him. "You're soaked through to the skin, hypothermic and, on top of all that, you're seriously injured." Without another word, John scooped his son into his arms and started in the direction of possible shelter. He tried to ignore the whimper of defeat, but couldn't miss the feeling of ice cold skin in the crook of his neck where Dean hid his face in embarrassment and shame. That's when John noticed that Dean wasn't shivering anymore. _He's already in second stage hypothermia. Dammit!_

* * *

Sam looked up at the man standing before him. "Who - Who are you?"

"I've come to help you, Sam."

"Did Bobby send you?"

The man looked at Sam like he had grown an extra head in the short amount of time that had passed since opening the door, then he smiled kindly. "Of course, he did. Why else would I be here, kid? Now, are you gonna invite me in or am I gonna have to go back the way I came?"

After a brief hesitation, Sam stepped aside, allowing the man to enter the cabin before struggling against the force of the wind to close the door behind him.

"The name's Shaun, by the way. So, where're your dad and brother?"

Sam turned slowly away from the door, his whole demeanour having changed from uncertainty to suspicion and mistrust. He slipped the gun from the back of his waistband, the way Dean had taught him to, and aimed it at Shaun. The fourteen year old did his best to ignore the fear that was inching its way into his blood stream, while simultaneously trying to channel his brother. "Who. Are. You," he asked in a dangerous tone that would've made Dean proud.

"I told you. My name's Shaun. Bobby sent me," Shaun said, raising his hands cautiously.

"Don't lie to me. If Bobby had sent you, you'd already know that dad and Dean are…" Sam bit his tongue. He didn't want to give too much away. "You'd already know where they are."

"Look, I live a couple properties over and Bobby called and asked me to help you. The line went dead before he could tell me the whole story. The phones are out all over," he added when he saw the disbelief in Sam's eyes. "Go ahead, check for yourself."

Sam was careful to keep the pistol trained on the stranger as he stepped over to the phone and picked up the receiver. Sure enough, there was no dial tone. That didn't quell his suspicions, though. "You could've cut the lines yourself, before knocking on the door."

The man abruptly lowered his hands. "Okay, y'know what? You don't wanna believe me? Fine. I got better things to do. I got a family of my own to take care of," he said, making his way to the now closed door.

The young teen watched him carefully. He didn't trust the man as far as he could throw him but what if he was telling the truth? What if Bobby _had_ sent him to help? Dean and dad needed someone to find them… FAST! And, it could be hours before Bobby got there. Sam knew he had to put his family's needs above his own suspicions. He saw the Shaun reach out to open the door. "Wait," the youngest Winchester called out, halting the man's progress. "They were hunting a Sasquatch and should've been back hours ago."

The man turned to face him and pointed at the pistol. "You gonna put that thing down, now?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Sam replied, re-placing the gun beneath the back of his waistband.

"Why didn't you go with them on the hunt?"

Sam blushed slightly in embarrassment. "I was, uh, injured a while ago and they didn't think I was well enough to hunt yet."

"Your reflexes seem fine to me," Shaun said, matter-of-factly. "Do you know where they were hunting this thing?"

"Not exactly. But I did find this after I hung up with Bobby," he began, as he walked over to the coffee table and picked up the map he had discovered in his father's journal. "I think they went here," he added, pointing to a particular spot on the piece of paper.

"How do you know that?" Shaun inquired, peering over the teen's shoulder. "I don't see any markings."

Sam faltered for a moment. He couldn't say anything about his 'intuition'. He wasn't even sure he was going to tell Dean, let alone a complete stranger. "When I heard them talking earlier, I saw my dad point to that spot on the map," he lied.

"Did you tell Bobby about this?"

"No. Like I said, I didn't find it until after I got off the phone with him."

"Okay," Shaun said, stuffing the map into his jacket pocket. "We'd better get going then."

"Shouldn't we wait for unc -- uh, shouldn't we wait for Bobby?" Sam didn't know why but he felt like he shouldn't share too much about Bobby's importance to this family - and vice versa - with Shaun.

"Son, your family could be freezing to death out there. You really want to wait the few hours it could take Bobby to get here? Could even be more than that seeing as all the roads are closed due to the snow."

Sam paused a moment, weighing his options. "Okay, just let me go get changed first."

"Okay, but hurry up about it."

The teen nodded and rushed into his and Dean's bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Before reaching the could-be-rock-formation on the map, John found himself believing that someone was indeed watching over his family - because, in the distance, he could just barely make out the shape of a cabin. With renewed energy, he readjusted his grip on the young man in his arms and continued forward at a faster pace.

Inside the cabin, John noticed two things right off the bat - a small bed in the corner and a fire place across from it. He immediately went over and laid his boy down on top of the bed. The place was dusty but not decrepit, which told John that it was still in use, probably as a summer home. This realization gave him hope and he went in search of supplies to help his son. After rummaging through various closets and cupboards. He was able to find a couple blankets, which he immediately draped over Dean, tucking him in much the same way as he had done many years ago. He also found some old tea bags, and a bag of stale cookies - all of which had most definitely seen better days but would have to suffice under the circumstances.

He knew he would have to get Dean out of his wet clothes - and wouldn't _that_ be fun! - but, first he had to warm the place up a bit. When he went out onto the porch in search of logs for a fire, he was not disappointed. A small pile was sitting under a piece of tarp at the far end of the deck and John didn't hesitate in bringing each and every log inside, praying it would be enough to keep them both warm until morning… or longer if Dean wasn't well enough to leave by then.

Once the fire was started, with matches kept dry in the med kit, he pulled the blankets off the younger Winchester and proceeded to remove the semi-frozen clothing from his still not-shivering body. John was fully aware of the fact that he would have to face Dean's anger about someone undressing him - even (or, maybe, especially) his father - but if doing this saved his life, then he would gladly welcome any petulant words that were thrown his way.

With the jackets off, he eased his son forward and carefully pulled his t-shirt over his head. He checked the bandages over Dean's stomach and decided that he wouldn't have to change them, at least not until they thawed out with the rest of the young man wearing them. _Okay. Best to get this over with before he wakes up. Sorry about this, Dean. _He began to unfasten his son's belt buckle.

"Dad?"

John closed his eyes to the sound. _Well, so much for that plan. _While happy that his son was conscious, he had been hoping to have enough time to finish the task at hand before the boy woke. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at his son but continued to unfasten the belt. "Hey, sport, how ya' feelin'?"

"C-c-cold," Dean said softly. Then, suddenly realizing what his father was doing, he tried to pull away. "Wha's goin' on?" His slurred speech worried John but he hoped it would go back to normal once his temperature was brought back up.

Having unfastened his son's jeans, John started pulling them off. "I have to get you out of these wet clothes, Dean. You're hypothermic. We need to warm you up."

"No," Dean said, still trying to pull from his father and pushing his hands away. In the end, he watched with dismay when his movements did nothing to hinder the older man's progress, then closed his eyes against the mortification.

"You know the procedure. I've taught you and Sam enough times about what to do in a case like this," John replied, while taking off his own shirt.

"Need sleep."

"I know, kiddo. But, while you're sleeping, I have to get you warm."

Dean's eyes flew open at these words and noticed that his father wasn't wearing his shirt. "No!" The teen struggled backwards until his back was against the wall.

"Dean, it's gotta be done. You know that. Besides, it's not like I'm not wearing my jeans. I do have my limits, after all," he added with a smirk. John was lying with this last statement… there was no limit, _nothing_ he wouldn't do to save one of his boys - pride be damned! He sat down on the bed and stretched out on his side next to Dean, who was still pressed up against the wall, eyes somewhat panicky - not afraid of his father, just afraid of the vulnerability this was sure to portray.

However, he was still quite weak. So, when John grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, being careful not to aggravate his wounds, it didn't take much effort before he was pressed up against his father's chest, his chin resting on the older man's shoulder, his arms trapped between them. Still, Dean continued to struggle against him, squirmed with a surprisingly renewed strength. "Lemme go!"

"Listen, son," John said, not relinquishing his hold on him. "It's okay to need help once in a while."

"No, it's not!" Dean exclaimed, still struggling but growing weaker by the second.

"I know it's my fault," John continued, ignoring his son's protests. "I raised you to be a soldier but just forget all that for a little while, okay? You can be a soldier again when you're well. For now, let me help you. Please." He heard Dean whimper, felt the wetness of his tears on his shoulder, but noticed that his boy had finally stopped struggling and was now lying still in his arms - that's when John felt his own tears starting to burn behind his eyes as he willed the heat from his own body to enter that of his son. Keeping a hold of Dean with one arm, he reached out and pulled the blankets over top of them.

* * *

"Sam!" Bobby called as he burst through the door to the cabin. "I'm here, son. Sam?" He looked at the discarded blanket on the floor next to the sofa, then stared helplessly at the empty rooms before him. "Aw, whatcha go and do now, ya' idjit?" he asked, his voice thick with both anger and concern.

TBC

_A/N I have to say, this was a difficult chapter to write. Especially, the last scene with Dean and John. I didn't want it to seem 'slash-ish' because it's so not... Anyway, I hope it works. Please review? - hopeful smile - _Kelcor


	4. Chapter 4

Sam trudged through the snow slightly behind Shaun, praying that he wasn't making a mistake by following him. His hand strayed to his lower back, taking reassurance from the feel of the pistol pressing against his skin. They had been walking for what seemed like hours, the blizzard-like conditions were getting steadily worse, and there was still no sign of Dean or his father. He felt the tears spring to his eyes unbidden, and promptly forced them back. I gotta be strong. Like Dean. Gotta be strong like Dean. He smiled when the urge to cry dissipated somewhat. _See Dean? I can be strong, too. Aren't you proud of me? _His thoughts were interrupted when he walked straight into Shaun's back. "Why're we stopping?" Sam asked, his teeth chattering as he pulled his coat tighter around himself.

"Because of that," Shaun replied, shining his flashlight over to the right.

The young teen almost didn't see it through the blowing snow but once he saw the patch of red the rest of the form began to take shape. He quickly ran over to it, ignoring Shaun's words of caution. "This must be the Sasquatch they were hunting," Sam exclaimed, happy to finally have some hope for the first time in hours.

"Looks like they won, huh?"

Sam beamed up at the man. "Dean 'n Dad don't know _how_ to lose!"

Shaun chuckled slightly but something sounded off about it. Before Sam could figure out what that something was, the man leaned down to peer at something on the ground. He brought the flashlight in closer to a nearby boulder, then brushed some snow off it. Sam's heart sunk when he saw all the blood come off with the snow. "It must be the creature's blood," he said, trying to hide the tremors in his voice.

"Maybe," Shaun said, sounding doubtful. "But, it's a little far away from the body to be splatter, dontcha think? Not to mention the fact that it looks like it pooled here... which would mean that --"

"It's the creature's blood," Sam interrupted, leaving no room for argument. He then held his hand out, "Give me the map for a minute."

Shaun sighed loudly before pulling the paper out of his pocket and handing it to him, watching closely as Sam perused the map, shining the flashlight over the boy's shoulder.

"They didn't head back to the cabin," Sam stated, holding his own flashlight under his armpit so that he could brace the map with both hands against the wind.

"How do you know that?"

Sam gave the man a look that said 'duh'. "Uh, maybe because we would've run into them if they had?"

"Well, how do you know they didn't just take a different path back?"

"No, they wouldn't do that. They would go back the same way they had come so that, if they were unable to make it all the way, someone would be able to find them."

"If that's the case, and they're not on the path, then shouldn't they still be here?"

"Not if…" Sam's voice trailed off.

"Not if, what, son?"

"I'm not your son," Sam told him, matter-of-factly, glaring up at him.

"Okay, okay," Shaun replied, placatingly. "But, not if, what?"

The young Winchester took a deep breath. He didn't want to believe that either of them had been hurt but he had to face that possibility if he was going to find them in time. "Well, if you're right, and one of them did get injured, they would want to find shelter. And, since there's no shelter along the path they came in on, they would search for it elsewhere to hole up for the night, then come back to the path in the morning."

Shaun raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. "You're pretty good at this, kid. I don't think your dad gives you enough credit."

Sam found himself blushing at the praise that he didn't often receive, but quickly returned his attention to the task at hand. Looking at the map, he tried to figure out where his family would go. After a moment or so, he found what looked to be a rock formation of some kind. "Here," he said, excitedly. "They would go here."

The older man, once again, shone the flashlight over Sam's shoulder at the map. "Why there?"

"Because, it's the best possible spot. It's a higher elevation, according to the map, anyway. So, higher elevation means, at the very least, some protection from the wind. But, it could also mean a cave… shelter."

"Thanks, kid."

"For what," Sam asked, turning to face him. When he turned, his face made physical contact with the flashlight Shaun swung at him, and he fell backwards, landing on top of the dead Sasquatch. Momentarily stunned, he was able to do little more than offer a weak struggle when Shaun dragged him through the snow to a large tree. "Sorry, kid," the man said as he tied Sam's hands behind his back and then tied him to the trunk of the tree. "But, I gotta make the rest of this trip on my own. Don't worry, though. I'll be back for you… after I take care of your daddy and your brother."

"No!" Sam yelled, the man's words bringing him fully back to consciousness. "You leave my family alone!"

"They're just holding you back, Sam. I can teach you so much more. You're needed in another war, my friend. And, I've been selected to be the one to train you for that war!" Then, almost as an after thought, Shaun reached behind the boy, at which point, Sam tried to head butt him. The older man easily diverted the attempt, however, and snatched the pistol from the teen's waist band. "Don't think you'll be needing this. I, on the other hand, most definitely will." Then he walked away in the direction that Sam had pointed out on the map.

"NO!" Sam cried into the darkness.

* * *

Bobby searched the cabin for some clue as to where John and Dean might have gone because, he knew, if he could find them, he'd find the youngest member of the small family. _Sam, why didn't ya' wait for me, ya idjit? _He looked through John's room first and found absolutely nothing to aid him in his search. _You're a little too good at coverin' your tracks there, Winchester!_

Next, he checked Sam and Dean's room... and quickly realized that that was where he should have started his search. There, on the dresser, was a note from Sam.

_**Uncle Bobby,**_

_**I don't have much time to write this. I'm leaving with Shaun to find Dean and Dad.**_

_Shaun? Who the hell's Shaun?_

**_He told me that you sent him to help me. I don't know if I believe him or not but I have to find my family and you made me promise not to go alone. Sorry, Bobby. I know you just didn't want me getting hurt but I couldn't just sit around and wait... besides, Shaun said all the roads have been closed off. Again, not sure if I believe him, but I can't take the chance. If you're reading this, then I was right not to trust him... but wrong to leave with him, anyway. Sorry. Hope you can find us in time. _**

**_Love,_**

**_Sammy_**

_Dagnabit, Sam! How am I s'pose to find you without a map. _Then, a thought occurred to him and he turned the note over. Bobby couldn't stop the broad smile that spread across his face... Sam had drawn the map for him. _You're a pretty good artist, there, kiddo. _

Not wanting to waste another minute, Bobby zipped up his jacket and bolted outside. He committed most of the map to memory, then hopped on his skidoo - after ensuring the similar, yet smaller one, was securely attached to the back.

Less than two minutes after reading Sam's note, Bobby roared off into the distance on a mission to save his self-proclaimed family.

* * *

John sighed a breath of relief when Dean finally began shivering in his arms. He started rubbing up and down his son's arms and back in an attempt to speed up the warming process.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"C-can we s-s-stop c-c-cuddlin', now?"

The older Winchester laughed softly. "Not yet, sport. You're still shivering up a storm. Go back to sleep."

"D-don't like bein' w-w-weak."

"Listen to me, son. You are not being weak. Would you think I was weak if it were the other way around? Or, what about Sam? Would he be weak if he was the one who needed to be warmed up?"

"Th-that's d-d-different."

"No. No, it's not, Dean. You are so ready to save us… to sacrifice for us. Sometimes you're the one who needs to be taken care of. And, I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise. I just got so caught up in this fight, I didn't notice how much you boys needed me."

"You d-did your b-b-best, Dad."

"Yeah, well, my best wasn't good enough. I put too much on your shoulders," John confessed, pulling his son even closer to him and resting his chin in his hair.

"I d-d-don't mind looking after S-S-Sammy."

"I know you don't. But, that meant there was no one to look after you, Dean." He felt Dean open his mouth to say something. "And, don't tell me you didn't need to be taken care of because you did. And, you still do." John pulled away for a moment to look his son in the eye. "So, just shut up and let me be your dad for a bit, okay?"

"Yes, s-s-sir," Dean answered, desperately fighting the tears forming in his eyes but unable to stop the rebellious one that somehow made it past his defenses and down his cheek. He flushed with embarrassment when his father reached up and wiped the tear away with his thumb, then pulled him close again. Despite his embarrassment, however, Dean couldn't help but notice the feelings of safety and warmth coursing through his veins. Not the kind of warmth to stop him from shivering, mind you, but warmth, just the same.

Then the headache hit. It started as just a dull throbbing in his temples but quickly increased to an intense pain in his skull. He clenched his teeth against the agony but was unable to hide it from his father.

"Dean? Son, what is it?" John pulled away, supporting the younger man with both hands on his shoulders as Dean tried to curl in on himself. "Headache?"

Dean attempted to nod but when he moved his head the pain became even more excruciating.

John saw the almost-nod and, knowing that severe headaches were yet another symptom of hypothermia, he got up and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and some Tylenol number 3's from the med kit. He helped Dean put the pills in his mouth and to balance the glass of water against his lips to wash them down. He then set the glass on the floor, sat back on the bed and gently pulled his son over and cradled his upper body in his arms. Dean squinted his eyes, looking up at his father, and the older man was able to see the sheer misery emanating from the gaze. He brought his left hand up and smoothed his son's hair, then cupped his face in his palm. "You're gonna get through this, kiddo. It's part of the hypothermia. It'll pass. I promise." He pulled Dean closer to him, felt the tremors of pain coursing through him, and placed a feather-light kiss on top of his head. Then, he did something he hadn't done in years, he began to rock his son to sleep.

"Shhhh, I've got you, son. I've got you."

* * *

When the spontaneous headache was finally gone, Sam began pulling frantically at his bonds, trying desperately to break free and stop Shaun before it was too late. He knew intuitively that the headache was something Dean had been suffering from and prayed fervently that when it had passed for him, it had also passed for his brother. _This is all my fault. I knew in my gut that I couldn't trust Shaun but I did anyway because I was too damn scared to come out here on my own. I was such a coward! Dean, I'm so sorry. You'd be so ashamed of me. I'm so sorry. _He winced in pain when part of the tree dug into his wrist... then smiled as an idea struck him.

* * *

Dean had finally fallen back to sleep, the pain and the shivers seeming to have dissipated significantly. John took this opportunity to check the wounds in his son's stomach. He got out of bed and added more wood to the fire. Then, he returned and gently pulled Dean into a sitting position, doing his best not to wake him.

"Wha's goin' on?"

"Sorry, Dean. It's okay. I'm just gonna check your wounds, okay?" John unwrapped the bandages and checked the four deep slashes. He grabbed the med kit and placed it on the floor next to the bed. "Okay, sport, now that you're completely thawed out, I need to stitch you up."

"Guess I grew up to be a popsicle, after all, huh," Dean stated, flashing his trademark grin, no doubt in an attempt to put his father more at ease about the task at hand. That was one of the things Dean did best... make other people feel better.

Well, now it was John's turn to do the same for his son. He smiled down at him, "Yeah, kiddo, I guess you did." John gave the pills a few minutes to work their magic then got to work. First thing he'd have to do is pour holy water over the wounds, just to be safe. The hypothermia would have stopped anything from spreading through Dean's system earlier but that wasn't the case anymore. After taking the flask out of the inside pocket of his coat, John took one of his son's hands in his own. "This might hurt, sport." Dean nodded weakly but accepted his father's support, squeezing his hand in anticipation of the agony to come. "Ready?" Another weak nod. John poured the water over top of the younger Winchester's stomach and cringed when Dean's body arched off the bed, causing his son to cry out for the third time that night... not a sound John ever wanted to get used to. Relinquishing the hand, he sat on the bed and pulled Dean against his chest, smoothing his hand over his hair. "It's okay, Dean. Just breathe through it son, breathe through it." He heard the faint pants of air coming out of his son and waited until his breathing returned to normal, making a mental note to mention in the journal that _something_ in a Sasquatch's claws reacted to holy water. _What the hell?! _He had only poured the holy water to be safe, he hadn't actually expected any kind of reaction. _I'm so sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry._

"'S okay, dad. Had... to be... done..."

"There you go again, readin' my emotions and trying to make me feel better," John said with a sigh. "Okay, I gotta start the stitching now, dude. But, I can't safely give you more pills for the pain. You up for that?"

"Yeah. Just get it over with."

* * *

Sam continued to scrape the ropes around his wrists against the sharp piece of wood jutting out of the trunk of the tree, wincing in pain everytime it bypassed his bonds and attacked his flesh instead. At one point, the wood dug into his wrist and he arched his back against the pain, crying out in agony. When he finally got his breath back, he frowned in confusion. _What the hell? It didn't hurt that much. What was that? _Then, he realized... _Dean! Shaun couldn't have reached them already... could he?? Oh God, please don't let me be too late! _He moved the ropes against the wood ferociously now, not even noticing the many times it punctured his skin. Finally, he was free! Well, his wrists were, anyway. But, it didn't take long for him to squirm out from under the rope around his chest and jump to his feet. He grabbed his flashlight which was still laying in the snow where it had fallen when Shaun had gotten the drop on him_. Not again, you bastard! I am so gonna end you_. He couldn't help but smile at the words he had heard Dean use so many times before. The smile quickly disappeared though when he realized the imminent danger his dad and brother were in right now. He took off in the direction of the possible shelter... seeing the map in his mind's eye.

* * *

By the time John had finished the stitches, Dean had passed out again. Apparently, the pills still had some kick left to them. He covered his son with the blankets and set to work keeping the fire going. He even found an old tea kettle in the kitchen and started boiling some water so that he could make some tea, hoping the caffeine would keep him awake to tend to his son - though, he wished he had found coffee, instead. Sighing tiredly, he sat down in a rickety old chair next to the bed and prepared to wait out the night, needing to ensure infection didn't start to attack his son's system.

* * *

Sam came to the frozen river and followed it south until he came to where he was sure the map had promised a bridge. He shone the flashlight across the ice and his heart came to a thudding halt when he saw the not-quite-frozen-over hole closer to the other side... but, also dangerously close to the middle. _Had Dean or Dad fallen through the ice? _

Deciding not to entertain that possibility, he instead chose to believe that perhaps Shaun had fallen through. Being sure to give the hole a wide berth, Sam worked his way across the ice and made it to the other side without incident.

* * *

Shaun peeked in the window at the top of the door and saw John Winchester sitting in a chair, staring at his eldest son on the bed. _Hah! The kid's passed out. Perfect. Much easier to dispose of him that way... though, not nearly as much fun. _He stepped to the side a bit, trying to get a better view of the rest of the room, when his foot kicked a bucket next to the door. He cursed silently and jumped away from the window when Winchester turned in his direction. He hurried down the steps and crouched below the railing of the porch, waiting for his opportunity to present itself.

* * *

John heard a noise outside on the porch. He glanced at Dean to ensure he was still sleeping peacefully, then grabbed the shot gun and opened the door. He had been pretty sure it had just been the wind he'd heard until he saw the large bucket laying on its side on the porch. _Wind couldn't have knocked that over, could it? I mean, yeah, it's got a lot of strength to it but the porch is somewhat shielded from the gusts. _With his hunter instincts quickly taking over, John closed the door behind him, raised the shotgun and stepped toward the steps, making sure to check the far corners of the porch first because he didn't want anyone... or anything... to slip behind him and get into the cabin where Dean lay unprotected. He stood at the railing a moment, surveying the surrounding area for any kind of threat...

Suddenly, his feet were pulled out from under him and he fell backwards, his head crashing into the wooden floor of the porch. He saw stars almost instantly as he fought the blackness edging forward in his vision. John could just barely make out a large shape coming up the stairs, toward him. The thought of Dean laying vulnerable inside gave the older Winchester the strength he needed to grab for his gun and pull himself to his feet. Before he was completely vertical, however, the shape shoved him through the closed door and into the cabin!

* * *

Sam exited the treeline just in time to see his father thrown through the door. _Dad!_ He desperately fought the ever strengthening pain in his lungs - not to mention, every other part of his body - and ran as fast as his legs would carry him toward the cabin, his progress being constantly thwarted by the snow which was now knee deep.

* * *

Finally, able to get his feet beneath him, John inserted himself between the stranger and a still passed-out Dean and turned on his new adversary.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Sam's new drill sergeant. I've come to take my reign."

"Excuse me? I don't know what planet you just stepped off of, but you're not getting anywhere _near_ my son," John declared, casting a quick glance back at his eldest. "Either of them."

"Well, I beg to differ, Winchester. Sam is already waiting for me to come back for him."

"You're lying."

Shaun shrugged. "Okay, so he's not waiting voluntarily, perse. But that'll change with time. Soon, he'll forget all about dear ol' daddy and big brother and he'll fulfill the destiny bestowed upon him."

"You're nuts," John sneered.

"Am I?" Shaun asked, pulling Sam's gun out of his pocket and aiming it at John. "My job is to train little Sammy. But, first, I have to get rid of the two people who won't stop looking for him."

"I think you underestimate me and my family."

"I doubt it. Little Sammy wasn't too difficult to put out of commission."

"I swear, if you harmed my boy, I'll -- " John began, his voice full of venom.

"You'll what, John? Have you not noticed that I'm the one holding the gun, right now? Sammy's gun, I might add. Oh, don't worry, he'll live. He'll have a nasty black eye and a bruise covering one side of his face... but he'll live."

The thought of Sammy being hurt drove John to throw himself at Shaun. Seeing as he did, in fact, underestimate John, Shaun was not expecting the attack and the gun flew from his hand and slid away from them, coming to rest under the edge of Dean's bed.

The two men rolled across the floor, each trying to get the upper hand. When Shaun was on top, John pulled the knife from the sheath on his forearm and went for the other man's stomach. Unfortunately, Shaun deflected, receiving only a flesh wound below his elbow, then knocked the knife out of John's hand, sending it skittering to the other side of the room.

John used his legs to launch Shaun off him, then lunged for the gun. He grasped it in his fingers and rose to his feet again, only to be rewarded with hot water in his face when Shaun grabbed the tea kettle from the fire place and threw its contents in his direction. John cried out in agony, aiming blindly with the gun but not wanting to shoot for fear of hitting Dean in error.

Shaun laughed. "Well, so much for you having to watch me kill your first born with my bare hands. But, that wasn't a stipulation to the contract... just a bonus."

"Stay away from my son," John roared, aiming the gun in the direction of Shaun's voice...

A spot which was currently empty because Shaun was now standing over Dean. He leaned down, placed his hands on the young man's throat, and squeezed with all his might. Dean didn't wake from his drug induced sleep but he did begin to make horrible choking sounds.

TBC

_A/N Sorry, guys, another evil cliffie! Please R&R. I pretty much know where the next (and final) chapter will go but, I have to warn you, it might not be quite as long as this one. I'll do my best to stretch it out though. And, just as a little side note, I have no idea if it's even possible to tow one skidoo behind another... let's just call it 'creative license', 'k? -hopeful smile _- Kelcor


	5. Chapter 5

Sam rushed into the cabin and froze in shock. His father was on his knees in the middle of the room, one hand wiping frantically at his eyes, the other holding Sam's gun, desperately seeking the proper target. The oldest Winchester was aiming the gun towards the kitchen, though… and, the target was hunched over an unconscious Dean, hands on his throat, squeezing the life out of him. Even as Sam watched, Dean opened his eyes to mere green slits of awareness and pushed desperately at the hands around his neck. His body was still weak, however, from his recent ordeal and he was easily overpowered by the older man.

The youngest of the Winchester's took all of this in within a matter of seconds before he forced himself into action. He saw the knife lying on the floor a few feet away and inched his way forward until he was able to silently lean down and pick it up. He grasped it firmly in both hands and raised it over his head. He then lunged at Shaun with what could only be described as a war-cry. The plan was to thrust the blade between Shaun's shoulder blades and be done with it. _The coward's way out, _Sam thought bitterly. Yet he knew he would not be able to defeat this adversary in hand-to-hand combat and he _most definitely _had to win! He had to save his brother. Unfortunately, said adversary spun around at the sound of Sam's anguished cry of fury, eyes wide. Before the older man could react, the knife was firmly lodged, hilt deep into his neck, blood gushing out of his jugular. The young teen watched as signs of life frequently ebbed out of Shaun's eyes and the man fell to the floor in a heap. His feet felt as if they were encased in cement, and his eyes seemed to be the 'north' end of a magnet and Shaun was the 'south'. He stared, unmoving, at the dead body… the dead _human_ body.

A gasp from Dean brought Sam back to reality and he instantly moved to his brother's side, his hands hovering over him, unsure of what to do first. "Dude," he said, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," Dean rasped weakly. "You're hurt."

Sam looked at him, perplexed. "What? No, I'm fine, Dean. You're the one who's hurt."

"Blood," Dean said, looking at his little brother's hands.

"Oh," Sam replied, quickly wiping his hands on his jeans. "Not mine, Dude."

"You sure?"

Sam nodded.

"What about Dad?"

Sam felt a pang of guilt when he realized he hadn't checked on his father. "Oh man, Dad!" Before he could turn around, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine, Dean. Are you boys okay?"

The older of the two looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and nodded. Then, knowing that his family was okay, Dean allowed the drugs in his system to take effect again and drifted off to sleep.

John looked down at Shaun's body on the floor, then at his youngest son. "How about you, Sammy? You okay?" His heart broke slightly when his boy refused to look up at him, that alone told John that Sam was anything _but_ alright. "Sam -- " He began, but was interrupted by the sound of another voice close-by.

"What in tar-nation happened?!"

"Hey, Bobby," John replied. "Sammy here saved our lives." He glanced down at his boys again. Dean sleeping soundly, and Sam holding his brother's hand in both his own.

"Well," Bobby began, "I'm sure there is one helluva story behind all this, but we really need to get outta here. The storm has let up a bit, but probably not for long."

Sam didn't react to Bobby's presence at all; he just sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his older brother. The two men shared a look of concern, then went out and unhooked the chain connecting the two skidoos.

"You okay to drive this thing?" Bobby asked, noting the raw looking burns on his friend's face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," John answered, touching his face gingerly. "Nothing that won't heal in a few days. Besides, the blowing snow actually feels good… you know, once the unbearable-stinging-phase passed."

They both chuckled forlornly as they returned to the cabin for the boys, and were more than a little surprised to find Sam dressing Dean. He refused either man's assistance as he took care of his brother. Once Dean was dressed and somewhat warm once again, the youngest Winchester reclaimed his seat on the bed. John tried to pull him to his feet but the teen was not yet willing to release his charge.

"Sammy," John said softly in his ear. "We need to get Dean back home, okay? We need to get him warm and redress his wounds."

Sam looked behind him at the now broken door, then back at his brother. Making his decision, he gave a quick nod and let go of Dean's hand.

"Good boy," John told him, placing a hand on his son's shoulder - feeling his heart ache when Sam flinched away from his touch. He glanced down at Shaun's body again, then knelt down in front of the teen, grasping his shoulders firmly. For one split second, he saw the immense pain in his boy's eyes. "Sam, you did what you had to do. I'm proud of you, son." Sam's eyes immediately filled with tears but, before they could fall, he was gone. His body was still there, but Sam wasn't. John looked desperately into the blue orbs staring out at him but was unable to find the usual fire… determination… love… "Sammy? C'mon, son, talk to me," he pleaded, shaking him slightly, then cupping his face in his hands. Nothing. He turned frantically to Bobby. "We need to get out of here… Now!" He quickly scooped Sam up into his arms, then looked over at Dean. Both his boys needed him right now, how was he supposed to choose. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to face his long-time friend.

"I'll get Dean," Bobby told him, his voice softer than John ever imagined it could be. "Sam needs you a little more, right now."

He nodded and watched as Bobby gathered Dean into his arms. The two adults locked eyes for a moment, Bobby giving John silent encouragement - _They're strong. They'll make it through this. __You'll__ make it through this. _They each carried their equally precious cargo outside. John grabbed the chain that had been used to attach the two skidoos and, after positioning Dean so that his back was against Bobby's chest, he wrapped it around their waists to keep his unconscious son from falling off the vehicle. Then, putting Sam in the same position against his own chest, John removed his belt and wrapped around himself and his youngest son, not trusting Sammy to be coherent enough to remain on the vehicle of his own accord. With both boys secured, the men turned on the skidoos and took off into the night.

* * *

Three days later, the Winchesters were engaging in some much needed downtime at Bobby's place. Dean's wounds were healing nicely, though he was still suffering from the occasional mind-splitting headache. And, John's facial burns were almost completely unnoticeable - but his heartache for his boys still remained.

Sam, however, was a different story entirely. His eyes were no longer vacant, but they also didn't hold his usual joy for life. Sure, he was the brooding type, but time with his family - times when John and Dean weren't hunting - always brought out the light that seemed to be hiding behind the moodiness. That light just wasn't there anymore.

John was sitting in the kitchen, barely eating the sandwich Bobby had pretty much ordered him to eat, when Dean came in from working on one of the cars in Bobby's junk yard. He watched as his eldest son poured himself a glass of juice and sat down in front of him. John tried his best to ignore the look of determination in the teenager's eyes.

"Dad, what's wrong with Sammy? He's too quiet. He barely eats. The bags under his eyes show how little he's been sleeping…"

"He'll be fine -- "

"Don't give me that crap, Dad. You and I both know he's not fine. What happened in that cabin?"

"You were there."

"You know friggin' well that I only remember bits and pieces. Most of which involve chick-flick moments that I would much rather forget altogether," he added with a scowl.

"Dean, when are you going to realize that sometimes you need to be taken care of, too? You don't have to be so strong all the time."

"Don't change the subject," Dean replied, coolly. "I wanna know what's wrong with my little brother, and I wanna know right now!"

John sighed. He had been trying to avoid this conversation so that Dean's concern over his brother's well-being didn't inhibit his own healing - besides, John was worried enough for both of them. He had attempted to get through to his youngest son on numerous occasions, only to be shut out even further. He didn't know what else to do and knew it was because he didn't know his boys well enough to read them properly. That it was because of all the hunting, all the insistence that they not allow emotion to cloud their judgement. John was currently kicking himself for all that training. I mean, sure, it had been necessary, but at what cost? Had this latest incident, and Sammy's refusal to deal with what had happened, caused John to lose his little boy forever? The only one who ensured that he and Dean kept their humanity while hunting the numerous monsters hiding in the dark. And, what had Shaun meant when he said he was sent to train Sammy? What 'destiny' had he been talking about?

"Dad?" Dean asked.

The softness of his son's voice pulled John from his thoughts. "Okay. You know about Shaun, right? I mean, between what Bobby and I told you, you know about that part."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Shaun tried to kill me and Bobby stormed in and saved the day. But, that doesn't explain why Sammy isn't Sammy, anymore."

The older Winchester shook his head sadly. "You assumed that Bobby had killed Shaun, and I allowed you to assume it because it was easier at the time."

"What are you saying, Dad?"

"I'm saying that… Sam killed Shaun."

"What?" Dean roared, standing so abruptly that his chair slid back across the room and toppled to the floor. "Dad, Sammy has never even killed something we _hunt_! And, now you're telling me he killed a _human being_?!"

"I know, Dean. I've been trying to get through to him but nothing is working. I don't know what else to do."

The younger of the two turned to leave the kitchen. With his back to his father, he said, "You should've told me sooner." Then he left, retreating further into the house.

"I know," John whispered softly.

* * *

Dean made his way into the living room and found Sam sitting on the sofa. The TV was on but whatever show was airing, his little brother wasn't watching it. He was just staring blankly at the screen. Dean went over and hunkered down in front of him, placing his hands on the younger boy's knees.

"Hey, little brother," he said softly. "How ya' holdin' up?"

Sam simply shrugged, eyes still glued to the television. Dean sat down next to him on the sofa, awkwardly placing an arm around his shoulders. When he still failed to get a reaction, he reached out and cupped Sam's chin in his fingers, gently but firmly turning his brother's face towards him. However, Sam's eyes stayed aimed at the TV.

"Look at me, Sammy. Sam?" Nothing. "Sam!" Dean yelled, more out of a need to get Sam's attention than out of anger. The tone of his voice shocked his little brother out of his self induced trance and his eyes finally focused on him. For one brief moment, Dean was able to see the undiluted pain in the young teen's eyes. Then, Sam squeezed his eyes shut, blocking any further scrutiny.

"Look, Dad told me what happened at the cabin… what _really _happened. I know it must be tearin' you up inside. Please, just talk to me, Sammy."

Sam tore his chin free from his big brother's grasp and got up off the couch. "I'm going to bed," he said softly.

"Sammy, c'mon, it's not even 9 o'clock. You're usually the one fighting to stay up longer."

Sam shrugged again and Dean watched helplessly as he left the room and went upstairs.

* * *

Dean looked at the pills Bobby had left on his nightstand but refused to take them. He knew his little brother better than anyone. Although, Sam usually wore his heart on his sleeve, there were a few occasions when he tried to hide being bothered by something - like the fact that he had been terrified the first time he'd accompanied Dean and John on a hunt. Up until recently, he had only been an 'observer' on their hunts because Dean had insisted that he was too young… in truth, he had just wanted Sam to keep some of his innocence intact for as long as possible. The Wendigo hunt a few weeks ago was the first hunt that Sam would've been allowed to actually kill the creature, should the opportunity arise - which was why Dean had tried to convince their father to make him stay home. The older Winchester felt a knot form in his gut at the memory of almost losing his little brother.

He wasn't sure why, but on those few occasions, Sam had tried to hide his emotions. They never stayed buried for long, though. That's what happens when you share a motel room. The first time Sam had been permitted to 'observe' a hunt, he had insisted to Dean and his father that he was fine, had even made some morbid jokes about the creature in question. But, that night he'd had one of the worst nightmares Dean had ever witnessed. He had woken up screaming and Dean had made it to his side in a matter of seconds, pulling him into his arms and whispering soft words of comfort into his hair. Their father was in the next room over so he hadn't heard his youngest son's screams, and Sam had made Dean promise not to tell him. The older Winchester had kept his promise but that didn't mean he was going to turn a blind eye to the knowledge tonight. Anything that was bothering Sam would come out while he was sleeping, he was sure of it.

He looked at the clock - almost 3 a.m. Despite the lack of pain killers in his system, Dean felt himself being pulled away by sleep and fought to keep his eyes open. Just when he feared he was going to lose the battle, he sensed movement from the bed to his left. He watched Sam pass his bed and step out into the hallway. The older Winchester kicked the blankets off himself and followed. By the time he made it into the hall, Sam was already descending the stairs.

"Sam!" Dean said in a harsh whisper, silently praying that his brother wasn't going outside - bare feet and a junk yard full of small car parts were most definitely _not_ a good mix! He reached the top of the stairs and called out again, though still whispering, "Sam!" No answer.

* * *

_Sam stabbed Shaun in the throat with the knife and watched as the man fell to the floor in a heap. He looked over at Dean and saw his big brother's eyes staring blankly at him. "No!" He ran over, gripping his brother's shirt in his fists and shaking him. "You can't die. You're not allowed to die!" Suddenly, Dean was bleeding, his blood seeping all over Sam's hands. The youngest Winchester tried desperately to wipe the blood off on his jeans but it wasn't working, his brother's blood was still on his hands. Saving him had been just a dream. He was dead and it was all Sam's fault. He was a coward. He had led Shaun right to his family. He'd been taken in by the man's words. Deceived. Which meant, not only was he a coward, he was a stupid coward! "NOOO!" he screamed. He continued to try to get the blood off his hands. He wiped them on his jeans, on the sheets, all the while doing his best to avoid the accusing stare coming from his brother! Suddenly, he was next to the sink. He turned on the hot water and started rubbing his hands beneath the scorching liquid. Still, his brother's blood remained. "Oh, Dean, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! It's all my fault!" He felt the tears on his face but couldn't bring himself to wipe them away because that would put the blood on his face as well. He was beginning to get nauseous. He could taste the bile in his throat but couldn't tear his hands out from under the hot water until the blood was gone. He could see the blood washing down the drain, turning the water a deep pink, but his hands remained soaked in the thick red liquid. He reached for a scouring pad on the edge of the sink._

* * *

Dean descended the stairs quietly, not wanting to wake his dad or Bobby, but also not wanting to startle Sammy. _What is he doin' down here, anyway? _When he entered the kitchen, he got the answer to his question.

Sam was standing in front of the sink, steam rising all around him. _Not my blood, Dude. _Realization hit him and Dean rushed over to his little brother, horrified to see that Sam had his hands under the scalding water, rubbing them together as if washing them… Dean tried to pull Sam away from the sink but his brother refused to budge. The older of the two could see the tears on Sammy's face, then he saw him reach for the scouring pad. "No! Sammy, no!" He quickly pushed the pad out of his baby brother's reach and tried to turn off the hot water. Sam pushed his hands away and stretched to the side for the scouring pad once again. Dean immediately wrapped his arms around him from behind and picked him up off the floor in a bear hug, while turning them both away from the sink.

"NOOO!" Sam screamed. "I have to get the blood off!"

"There's no blood, Sam. I promise."

The youngest Winchester continued to struggle but Dean held on until he sagged forward in his arms. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy," he whispered, forcing him to sit down on the kitchen floor and then taking a seat next to him. He heard John and Bobby come running down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"What the hell?!" John cried.

"Dear God," Bobby whispered, coming to a halt beside John as both men stared in horror at the sight before them.

Dean looked up at John, silently pleading to let him handle this. He could tell it was a difficult decision for his father to make but he finally conceded and led Bobby out of the room. John made one final appearance, placing a now fully stocked med kit on the floor next to his boys. Dean gave his father a look of gratitude. The older man nodded, then retreated back up to his bedroom.

The older brother opened the med kit and pulled out a tube of Polysporin. "Why would you do this to yourself?" he asked, softly as he smeared ointment on Sam's burned skin.

"Just a dream," Sam whispered.

Dean proceeded to wrap the injured hands in gauze, being careful not to cause his brother even more pain. "It's not just a dream when it makes you hurt yourself, Sammy," he gently chided.

Sam suddenly pulled away from him and scooted backwards across the floor. "No. _This_ is a dream."

"What're you talking about?"

"You died in that cabin. I'm dreaming that you're alive but I know you're dead."

"Sam -- "

"I'm so sorry, Dean."

"Sorry? For what? You saved my life!"

"No, I didn't. You died because I was a coward."

"Sammy, you're not a coward, and I'm okay," Dean began, inching his way towards his brother on his knees, wanting to remain at Sam's eye level.

"No," Sam cried, pushing further back into the kitchen until he was sitting in a corner, knees drawn up against his chest - and never taking his eyes off his brother. "Stay away. You're not real!"

"Sammy, you killed Shaun," he said, wincing at the look of pain and guilt that crossed his brother's face. "But, you saved me. Okay? I'm alive. I swear to you, I'm alive."

The youngest Winchester shook his head, whimpering softly. "No. I want you to be… _so badly_… but I know you're not. You died! And it's ALL MY FAULT!"

"No, little brother," Dean said, trying to figure out a way to convince him. Before he could think of something though, Sam stood and made a dash for the door, almost knocking Dean over in the process. Dean quickly regained his balance and jumped to his feet. When he turned around, his little brother was already at the door but he was halted by the fact that his hands were bandaged up and he couldn't get a grip on the doorknob. The older Winchester once again, wrapped his arms around Sam from behind, pulling him back into the middle of the kitchen before he tripped over the med kit and they both fell backwards. Dean landed hard on the floor and Sam landed in his lap.

The younger of the two tried desperately to get up but realized his big brother had other plans when he felt strong arms wrap around him again and pull him close.

Dean trapped his little brother against his chest. Even though he was only fourteen years old, Dean had to admit that Sam could put up one helluva fight when he wanted to. _But, I'm still stronger than you, little brother. And, chick-flick be damned because you need this! _He held onto his kid brother with a vengeance, forcing the side of his face against his chest - just over his heart.

"You hear that, little brother?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's desperate attempts to get free. "That's my heart beat. Listen to it. Listen," he repeated, more harshly this time, giving his brother a bit of a shake to get his attention. Sam stopped fighting and did as he was told. Dean was pretty confident he was finally getting through to him but he wasn't positive until he heard the first sob tear free. Then another. And another. "Shhh. It's okay, Sammy. I've got you. I've got you." Sam continued to cry in his big brother's arms and Dean continued to hold him… he even took a tip from his father, and began rocking him softly back and forth, cradling him against his chest. "I got you," he whispered when Sam gripped his t-shirt in his fist, silently begging him not to leave. "I'm not goin' anywhere, kid. I got you."

TBC

_A/N The next chapter will be a quick epilogue to tie things up, but this is basically the end. I really hope you enjoyed it! Please review… Thanks. - _Kelcor


	6. Chapter 6

Sam and Dean were in their bedroom now, each sitting on their respective beds. The younger of the two was leaning against his headboard, staring silently at the wall. Dean, on the other hand, was sitting on the edge of his bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. He watched his little brother intently, knowing in his gut that this was far from over.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, not for the first time.

"I swear, Sammy, you apologize one more time and I'm gonna pummel you."

His little brother made eye contact with him long enough to give him a sad, watery smile, then returned his attention to the wall.

"Just tell me why," Dean told him.

"Why, what?"

"Why you didn't come to me sooner."

Sam shrugged dismissively.

"Uh-uh, little brother, that's not a good enough answer."

The youngest Winchester stood and walked away, keeping his back to Dean. "Well, too bad cuz it's the only answer you're gonna get."

Dean's lips quirked downwards, even as his eyebrows went up. '_Is that so?_' Then he too stood and approached his brother. "So, we're gonna play that game, are we?"

"It's not a game, Dean," Sam said with a sigh. "I just don't wanna do this, right now, is all."

The older Winchester matched his brother's sigh with one of his own, he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. _It's gonna be a long night._ "I'm assuming you knew I was alive when we first got to Bobby's, right?"

Sam turned and sat down on the edge of his bed, silently refusing to make eye contact with his big brother. He was still embarrassed about breaking down in Dean's arms. _Not only am I a coward, but I'm a wuss, too!_

"Sam?" Dean prodded, gently.

"I guess so," Sam responded, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Okay. So, what changed, then?"

Another shrug. Dean sat down next to him, close enough that their shoulders were touching. "C'mon, Sammy, talk to me, Dude."

Sam jumped to his feet again, nearly knocking Dean off the bed. "Oh, that's rich, Dean! That's really rich!"

The older of the two was clearly confused. "What?"

"How often do you talk to me, huh? When you're upset about something, how often?"

"Sammy -- "

"No, Dean. Being brothers is a two-way street, okay. You don't get to be all strong and macho, and then expect me to come whining to you when I'm hurting!"

Those words sounded vaguely familiar to Dean, then he remembered the argument they'd had just before the Wendigo hunt.

"_I think Sammy should stay here, dad. He's still not 100 percent."_

"_Hey, Sammy is right here. And, it's Sam."_

_Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's recent decision that Sammy was the name for a baby not a teenager. "Fine. I think Sam should stay here, dad," Dean repeated, this time not taking his eyes of his still too pale little brother._

_John turned his own concerned gaze to his youngest. "You still feelin' the effects of that flu, son?"_

_After shooting a glare at his over-protective big brother, Sam looked his father in the eye. "No, dad, I'm good to go. Dean's just being too much of a Florence Nightengale to realize it."_

_Now, it was Dean's turn to be indignant. "What? I'm not… I'm just…" Finally, giving up on his attempted come back, the middle Winchester glared back at his brother. "Fine. Be a stubborn jack-ass. Just don't come whining to me if you get hurt!"_

"Aw, c'mon, Sammy. I only said that cuz I was angry. I just didn't want you to go on that hunt."

"Why not?"

"Because, you still weren't over that flu. And, because…" Dean's voice trailed off. He could feel another chick-flick moment rapidly approaching and sighed with resignation. "Because, I didn't want you hunting yet."

"Dean, I've gone on lots of hunts with you and dad."

_Okay, how did we get so far off topic, here. Then again, maybe we're not off topic. Maybe they were just finally getting to the correct one. _"Yeah, as an observer. That's a far cry from actually killing anything, Sammy!"

The last comment brought fresh tears to the younger boy's eyes, but he fought them back. "You stopped being an observer when you were a lot younger than me, Dean. You were eight when you made your first kill."

This time it was Dean's turn to give his back to his brother, placing a hand on the back of his neck at the same time. "That's different."

"Why, Dean?" Sam asked, the tears getting harder and harder to hold back. _No, dammit, I am not gonna cry like a baby again! _"Why is it different?"

The older hunter spun back to face him, the look in his eyes a mixture of anger and pain. "Because, you're not me, Sammy! And, I never want you to be!"

This shocked Sam, causing him to take a step backwards, eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. "What? Why not?"

Dean sighed sadly. "I don't want you to have to grow up as quickly as I had to. I want you to just enjoy being a kid. I never got to do that, Sam. When mom died… my childhood was basically yanked out from under my feet. I mean, don't get me wrong, dad did his best - under the circumstances - but he just couldn't handle raising us and hunting the thing that killed her, at the same time. So, that responsibility fell to me. And, I don't regret it, Sammy. I don't. It's just..."

"Dean, I'm sorry -- "

"I don't want your pity, Sam. I just want you to understand why I am the way I am. Why I don't open up the way you want me to. Why I try to protect you from hunting. Why I…" his voice trailed off, knowing that he couldn't finish the last part, '_Why I love you so damn much', _without getting teary himself.

"I love you too, bro," Sam said, reading his brother like one of his library books.

"Whatever, Dude," Dean replied, but gave his brother his most genuine smile to show what he couldn't say.

There were a few long moments of silence, then Sam began talking, really talking, for the first time since before the Sasquatch hunt.

"I was so scared, Dean. All I could think of was, what would Dean do? I wanted to be brave like you. I wanted to be _smart_ like you. You're my hero, Dean." Dean's eyebrows raised higher and higher with each of his brother's confessions. "So, if you don't want me to be like you, that's just too bad… because that's _all I wanna be_!"

Dean could feel the sting behind his eye lids getting worse as he watched Sam move his gaze to the floor. "Too bad I failed," he heard him say softly.

"What? You didn't fail, Sammy. You saved my life when you ended that psycho!"

Unable to stop the tears anymore, Sam turned his wet face up to his brother. "If it weren't for me, that psycho never would've gotten his freakin' hands on you! I led him straight to you, Dean. I was a coward for not going after you on my own. I was an idiot for falling for his story. And, I was an idiot for letting him get the drop on me!"

Dean pulled Sam roughly into his arms, once again ignoring the kid's protests. "Okay, first of all, Sam, you would've been an _idiot_ if you'd gone out in that storm on your own."

The younger of the two pushed frantically at his brother's chest. "Lemme go, Dean!"

But, Dean was still stronger than his little brother and merely tightened his arms around him, holding him against his chest for the second time that night. "And, speaking as the one person who knows you better than you know yourself, you didn't fall for his story so much as you were just desperate to find me and dad. As for him gettin' the drop on you? You got away, Sammy. You got away and you got to the cabin by yourself. You killed him, Sam. I know it wasn't easy but you did it to save me. And, y'know what? That makes you _my hero_!"

"I just wanna be as strong as you," Sam cried. "And, look at me - I'm crying like a baby!

Dean pulled away slightly, placing a hand on each of his brother's shoulders. He waited patiently for Sam to lock eyes with him before continuing: "C'mon, Sammy, you saw the condition I was in when you woke up in the hospital last month. I was a wreck."

"That was different," Sam said, trying to get control of himself.

"Oh yeah? How is that?"

"You thought I was dying."

"And, you thought _I _was dying, Sammy. You thought me _and_ Dad were dying. I can't think of a better reason for a few tears. Can you?"

After a moment of staring up at his brother, seeing the truth of his words in his eyes, Sam silently shook his head. When Dean pulled him against him again, he smiled when his little brother's arms wrapped around his waist, clinging to him as if for dear life, finally allowing the tears to flow freely. Then, and only then, did Dean Winchester allow his own tears to fall.

The End

_A/N Okay, kind of an Epilogue and kind of not. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it. I'm also working on the next chapter of "Coming Home"... for anyone who's waiting for the update. Thanks so much for reading. I hope you'll review, as well. _- Kelcor


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